--Turning the opal shard over in his fingers, and allowing the light to help with his examination, Vee quickly realized that there was something strange about this stone. Not black at all as it first appeared lying on the floor, the stone was blueish and iridescent in the lamp's light. Smooth, and a near perfect oval, the size of a robin's egg. Only one side of the stone, probably where it broke free of the Xaren's studded torso, was a bit rough. Its value? well, Vee estimated it could be sold to a gem dealer, merchant or enthusiast for thirty maybe forty gold pieces. Not bad. That was thirty or forty more than he had now, he mused to himself. But there was something else, something Vee could not quite put his finger on.

<<you may not at this time add 15-20 xp to your total for the opal. It must be sold or.....something.)>>

*Rolling Cure light Wounds* (courtesy of Aethelstan)

--Moruz listened to the sermon. Over the next ten minutes he learned more about some deity named St. Senren, than he ever wished to know. But if this holy warrior (for Moruz considered the young man to be a warrior and respected Aethelstan's suicidal stand against the Xaren earlier) could heal this cracked rib, he was all for a religious lesson. He wouldnt say this to anyone, but his rib wasnt cracked...it was broken. One sudden move or another direct chest hit, and his shredded rib could potentially puncture his lung. Moruz sighed (even that was painful) and waited. For his part, Aethelstan merely lay his hands on the glass warrior and recited his prayer.

When he was done, Moruz sighed again. But this time it wasnt so painful. He felt better immediately, and it seemed to him, though how this was possible he did not know, that the cracked bone simply healed and reattached itself. He drew in a long breath and rose.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Moruz raised and tested his repaired body by stretching slowly. Yes... his rib wasn't broken anymore. He wasn't back in perfect shape - there was still a bruise or two - but it was good enough for the glass warrior. Nodding his thanks, he eyed the cleric over, "Perhaps you had best do the same thing for yourself..."Now healthy enough not to have to worry about his own well-bieng, Moruz peered over the room, studying those who were still in here. Most of the patrons had left - either at the first sight of the Xaren's, or at the advice of the guards. Now there was only a half a dozen or so in the room. Moruz gave one last inspection of the room itself, looking it over closely to see if there was anything that the guards may have missed.

Sitting down in the chair he mumbered thanks, and reaching into his cloak pulled out a small bundle. Unrolling it he looked through all those wonderfully useless herbs and ashes and scraps of this, that, and something else. Finally he found what he was looking for, ground willow bark. Reaching for the nearest cup with anything in it, he poured some of the powder into it and drank it. That should help with the headache.

"Bandage my head? OH, right. Cleaned it but that just kinda..." Getting up he walked over to one of the bodies and torn off come cloth. Pressing it up against his head he tied it tight in the back. "And sure I'll go with you, looking for someway outta town anyway, and you guys look about as safe as any of these wonderful caravans that head through here and get robbed a couple of days outta town."

Logged

For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

“Perhaps St. Senren will bless me with his aid again, but if he doesn’t, I’m going to need something for this headache. I suppose that if I can’t find any healing herbs around here, one of those bottles of methyglyn on the floor will have to do,” pondered Aethelstan. He had always avoided strong liquors, but they certainly seemed to help some of the brethren back at the monastery when they woke up feeling ill in the morning. As he picked up the miraculously spared bottle of spiced mead, he asked the glass-clad warrior, “What did that kid grab from you? Was it something important?”

Vee pocketed the opal again, it felt nice knowing that he had something he could trade for a bit of gold. How long had it been since he had felt the comforting weight of gold in his palm. While the others were busy with healing the wounded and cleaning up the mess he slipped behind the bar to help himself to a few rounds...on the house. Before the young monk could indulge in the liquor and whatever powder he had added to his cup, Vee supplied him with what seemed to be a fourth rate merlot from some ten acre vinyard near the edge of Jantir. He poured himself a quick cup and followed with a pull from the bottle. It was better than the swill he had been getting earlier...something red cut with two parts water for his copper pieces.

Talia became very still when the man with the headwound made the comment about caravans that got robbed. Did he just not listen? Talia had been a member of one of those self-same caravans. That was the whole point of the excercise, to get revenge for her caravan. She put it up to addled thoughts from the blow to the head; besides, she was in no mood to spill blood needlessly, particularly when this man might help her. Still, she was angry. She turned away from him sharply, and addressed the one who had introduced himself. "Inspector? Well, I suppose you know your way around a fight, but I don't imagine your title will impress those I'm after much. Not that it really matters. I am Talia Bladedancer, late of Caravan Tolochis Ni Konos."

Aerex nodded his head. "The pleasure is mine, Madame Bladedancer. The title comes with the uniform, of course, though I do intend to use it. The Western Reaches are in need of some order and justice. I intend to bring it."

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Moruz stared at the Priest of st. Senren incredulously for a few seconds, before blinking. He had been travelling the outlands for nearly two years now, but sometimes he still forgot that these people didn't know much of his society - many didn't even know that the Ouzquin Dremorix exist!Absently, the warrior raised his hand to touch the empty space on his forehead where the circlet used to be. "That child stole a headband from me - the band itself isn't of much concern to me, but in that band is a glass sphere about so," Moruz raised his hands to shape out an orb about half the size of a chicken's egg. "This is called Ouzala Hemisa by my people, and we all own one. It is given to us when we are young, and is a symbol of our lives - to prove that we can hold the Hemisa is to prove that we are worthy to guard our own life. That child - Percy - stole my life. As such, his life is forfeit!" It was at this stage that the door opened and an old woman coddled her now-dead son. It was also at this time that a guard peered into the door and reprimanded the stragglers: "Didn't I tell you folks to scatter! Get going!"

Moruz shrugged faintly, then walked swiftly for the door. "Thank you for your healing, Priest. You may know me as Moruz." The glass warrior paused just before the door before glancing back to the rest of the party, "Do what you all will, but every second is a wasted one - I am hunting that child. Any help would be appreciated." With that, The Ouzquin Dremorix left the Inn.

Aethelstan hurried to keep up with the glass warrior. Moruz seemed friendly, even though Aethelstan’s question had obviously struck a sore point. Beside that, the man would need aid to recover his mystical bauble.

That kid… Obviously, he wasn’t what he appeared to be, reflected Aethelstan. Taking the opportunity to steal during the attack of those strange stone things, then slipping out smoothly during the carnage… And with the most valuable thing in the place, judging by the way the desert warrior was glowering. Furthermore, who ever heard of things like that attacking a crowded tavern on the midst of a city? That sort of thing was…uncanny. Perhaps the attack was less than coincidental. That “kid” had some explaining to do…

Justice WOULD have its proper time, just as the vision of Senren had foretold.

Seeing the warrior in the shiny armor and his young priest friend leaving the ruined inn, Vee felt no particular desire to be left behind. Besides, there was the matter of him offering that good looking woman to help get her revenge and whatnot. He grabbed another unbroken bottle of something, not sure what, and made his way discretely out the door.

Talia followed the others out; she was just as glad to leave. "We were about... two days away from here when the bandits attacked. They can't be based too far away." She glanced at Moruz. His outlook, at least, was something she understood. Maybe not the theory behind it, but the sentiment. Some said that the gypsy folk didn't pay their debts. True enough, sometimes they failed to produce money asked for. But the really important things, those were the real debts, and those were always paid. And always collected... "And it may be that little thief would be in the same direction; he can't have gotten too far away in any case."

The thief that had taken Moruz's precious 'Ouzala Hemisa', the brigands that had slaughtered Talia's caravan: Both lay in the same direction. The small band found itself in accord, determined to bring the lawless to justice. Stopping briefly to pick up a few days' rations and refill their water flasks, they set out after the villains.

Aerex fell into step next to Talia. "I'm going to have to watch that glass man," he said in a low voice. "Sure he took his orb or whatever, but killing a kid for it? C'mon." He glanced behind him. "But I mainly don't trust that trader. He's a thief, I can tell 'em a mile away. I'd watch your your back with him around."

He stepped away and cleared his throat loudly, reaching into his backpack. "Now then," he said in a louder vocie. "Let's see what about this Jervoe's Tribe." He pulled out a leather-bound codex stamped with the words Royal Constabulary Criminal Codex, Western Reaches Ed. Aerex thumbed through the book. "Let's see... Jervoe, Jervoe, Jervoe... Ah, here it is," he said, tapping his finger on the page. He began to read it aloud...

....As to the gangs and brigand bands east of Ganse, which are as numerous and interchangeable as jackals, one needs to be noted on these pages. Jervoe's Gang, though innocuous in name, stand out as a particularly sharp thorn among the bandit clans which vex travelers and the Empire's goodfolk. His hideout moves from place to place, and his reputation over the last decade has prevented scared folk, from helping law enforcement set a proper trap. He is an iconic figure to the Kinless of the misty hills, and tales of his gangs exploits have catapulted the killer and thief to near legendary status. Of his men and their numbers, little is known. Jervoe has a brother, Mingo, and it is said, Mingo leads the bandits in their heists and pillaging. A final note: Rumours have begun to circulate that Jervoe has recently acquired some weapon or object of magic, which has further cemented his position of power among the clans. It is even said that Jervoe has made a recent alliance with some gnolls. Something needs to be done soon, in this surveyors estimation.....

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Sounding as chipper as possible Dujek blurted out, "Oh, alright. So we go out, slaughter him and his brigands, and be back here skipping and dancing for out morning tea tomorrow. Assuming we find him, and his buddies and blood-kin don't dice us up, and that this magic item of his doesn't fry the skin from our flesh." Pausing for a second he said, "If he's deemed such a threat, does that book mention a bounty?"

Logged

For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

--East of Ganse stretches rough, no-mans land of grass and rock for many miles. Poor roads and paths meander among sparse patches of laurel and elm wood, followed further east by a sea of foggy hills and spooky fields, where dwell the scattered, superstitious Kinless. A great Laurel forest seperates the broken lands from the Holubuska Hills of the Kinless. After asking about town before their departure, the "justice-seekers" ascertained it would be a three day journey to reach the bawn of this wood. It was said by those in Ganse the group had questioned, that most of the bandit clans had hideouts in this very wood. Talia Bladedancer had mentioned this forest as well. Her caravan had circumnavigated it, on their journey towards Ganse, but when the bandits struck, she remembered they had come from the direction of the forest. Aerex as well, found a few more passages on general banditry east of Ganse, and confirmed the forest a good a place as any to start.

--Leaving town on foot, since even if the group had the funds to purchase mounts it would be quite difficult to find six available horses in this decrepid place, the companions by necessity and serendipity, followed the beaten road east. After three or four hours of somewhat forced and uncomfortable silent marching, (after all, they were strangers!) they paused beside the road to collect their thoughts and eat cheese, bread, and wild onions. A thick twisted laurel tree, a few hundred feet from the road, on a knoll of burnt orange grass, served as their base. The sun was less than an hour from its descent. A few thought of revenge, a few of justice, and a few of boredom and sore feet.

No travelers passed along the road. A flock of screeching crows flew past, and disappeared behind a distant hill. A persistant breeze blew from east, as if gently urging the group back from whence they came. A light drizzle began to fall.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Talia had eaten quickly, then had gotten up to stretch and work through a simple practice. She hadn't really practiced in a while, and walking had tightened her muscles. Standing away from the others, she pulled her fans out and opened them. It felt good. She was a dancer by trade, and that was evident in the way she moved. She had never been really sure if her fighting style was what they called a martial art, or dancing, or something in between. It didn't matter. Half way through her routine, she paused and watched the crows flying overhead. "I wonder..." She resumed her practice, but her mind was elsewhere.

Aerex buttoned up his coat as the drizzle fell. He glanced briefly at the crows, but thought nothing of them. Poking at the fire with a stick to keep it going, he noticed the light playing off of Moruz's armor. He watched him out of the corner of his eye. "So," he said after a minute or so, "where do you come from exactly?"

Moruz was seated cross-legged several feet away from the Laurel tree, allowing that drizzle of rain to wash over him instead of finding shelter. Glancing towards the clouds, he wondered if the rain would get heavier - he liked storms; enjoyed the sound of thunder and the tug of the wind - the raw essence of Axtrami flowing all around him.The Ouzquin warrior was taking this time - between bites of a large chunk of stale and half-soggy bread - to study his weapons: The rain could not rust his glass gear. The Zunouza - his spiraled, glass dagger - had already been inspected, and was now thrust deeply in the soft earth just before him, and the Ouzala was rested on his lap as he went over each glass tooth to make sure it was inset properly in the treated wooden shaft. Moruz did not look away as Aerex spoke.

"My clan originates from Karikun; which you would know as the Black-Snake desert of Kalcha." These are the first words not pertaining to the bandits or Percy that Moruz spoke since the rag-tag group had left the mining town - Instead of bieng tired from the travel, he seemed slightly more relaxed, at peace. He was used to long travel, and the time it took had given him time to calm himself. "From there, I travelled across the southern seas to Ssembra and made my way north through the wilderness to Ganse." He paused a moment, glancing to Aerax before speaking once again, shortly, "You must forgive me if the things I do seem strange to you, Aerex. I do not know the ways of your persons... ah, of the outside people, well." He offered a small shrug and turned back to watch the grey skies once more whilst listening absently to the rythmic training routine of Talia. He smiled faintly at the sight of a faint flash of light in the distance - there WAS lightning in the air... but would the storm come to them, or move away? Moruz was not great at predicting weather.

Aerex nodded. "Mm, there's a lot to learn. Most in the Western Reaches are pretty forgiving, though, so long as you follow the law." He hoped that the last part might strike Moruz, who seemed to Aerex so obsessed with killing that thief. Such vigilantism was brazenly criminal in the constable's mind. But the glass warrior seemed unfazed, nodding slightly as he continued to inspect his weapon.

Aerex yawned and stood, stretching in the chilly mist. Having eaten and wanting some physical activity, he drew his rapier and practiced a few techniques in the air. Parry riposte. Beat parry riposte. Thrust retreat. Feint thrust. Parry seconde riposte...

Aethelstan completed his meditations and stood up, stretching to work his sore muscles. He’d be feeling the effects of that fight back in town for some days yet, the sore monastic reflected. Still, it wasn’t really much worse that the training regimen that Brother Charter was always pushing on them back at the monastery.

While he was praying, a thought had occurred to him, an idea that had been germinating in his head since he had been knocked cold and had been given a vision of the holy Saint Senren himself.

“Friends!” he announced, trying to overcome his nervousness. “This rain may be a sending: A good omen for our quest. The villains that we seek are lawless and wicked; such low and weak-willed men are likely to retreat to their lairs while the storm passes. We need not fear that they will do more harm before we can find them.

“In town, I was granted a vision of the wise and noble St. Senren, attired as a Soldier of the Lord of Law. In the vision, he warned me not to act rashly and reminded me that justice cannot be rushed. I suggest that we press on carefully, letting those most skilled in stealth guide our steps. We may thus ensure that we remain the hunters, rather than the hunted.

“The 35th Precept of Andur also comes to mind: “When choosing your dwelling, look to the land.” Despite their lawless nature, we may be able to deduce where such a band of brigands would choose to lair. It will be a place well hidden with an easy route for retreat, a shelter that does not require overmuch work to prepare (as such low persons disdain honest labor), yet not more than a few hours walk from where they may prey on passing travelers. Are any of you skilled in tracking, that we might spot the sign of their passage when we draw nigh unto their lair?

“Lastly, while we rest here, I suggest that we keep two of us on watch at any time, so that none can creep up on us. That is the way that the Crusaders of Law prescribed many years before, and none have ever gainsaid the wisdom of that puissant legion."

--Talia spied the general direction from which the murder of crows had emerged, as she gracefully trained with her steel fans. They flew forth in a flurry, from behind a neighboring hillock to the south, two to three hundred yards across from the road, where the companions were now entrenched.

--The warm afernoon haze was gone with the now incessant drizzle. The sun was setting and dusk was upon the companions. Soon it would be dark. The drizzle progressed to a full blown downpour.

--Aerex checked his tome again, before beginnning his sabre training, rifling through the sections on compensation for delivering criminals "wanted" by the Empire or local judiciaries, with Dujek looking over his shoulder. The pair soon ascertained that there indeed was a bounty on Jervoe's head, not to mention his gang members. Five gold pieces per head or corpse of confirmed and proven gang member, ten gold for any culprit brought to justice still alive. Fifty gold for Mingo, one hundred for Jervoe himself! Another fifty for his "magician", Bassilinor (though nothing but his appellation was mentioned) and twenty more for someone named Red Hatchet. Peculiarly, the references on the two brothers, Jervoe and Mingo, did not mention "dead" or "alive".

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

The cloistered monastic had huddled close to the small fire, chilled without a proper cloak or bedroll to give shelter against the rain and wind. He noticed Talia’s distant gaze as the fleeing crows distracted her from her practice. “Crows? That never occurred to me…” he muttered quietly.

Aethelstan rose to his feet, clapping his helmet onto his sodden arming cap. “Friends, the Bladedancer’s spotted something. If we hope to discover more, we had best act now. Aerax, you’re a quiet fellow; could you take point? We can follow a spear’s cast behind.” Grasping his mace, “The Justice of Andur”, he headed toward a nearby gully that would mask his movement as he approached the distant hillock.